


Fallen, Faded, Lost

by Severina



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Community: lands_of_magic, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-09
Updated: 2015-07-09
Packaged: 2018-04-08 10:24:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4301115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In front of him, somewhere, lies a red line painted on the pavement. He cannot see it, cannot even sense its presence though he stretches out with all his inert power. But it is there, and beyond it the two women to whom he has entrusted his fate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fallen, Faded, Lost

**Author's Note:**

> Written for LJ's lands_of_magic community for their Badda Bing, Badda Bang challenge, for the song prompt "Duvet" by Boa. I was inspired by the lyrics: "I am fallen, I am faded, I have lost it all."
> 
> * * *

Rumplestiltskin doesn't know how long he crouches on the ground, moaning Belle's name. The pavement is cool against his palms. The tears have dried though the tracks of them still stain his cheeks. He knows she must have already left to begin the lengthy walk back to town. But the longer he remains, the longer he can delay the inevitable; the longer he can pretend that the past few weeks have been nothing but a bad dream and that soon he will awaken in his bed with his wife at his side.

His leg throbs uncomfortably in time with his heartbeat, as if to remind him of painful reality.

By the time he climbs laboriously to his feet the moon has crested. At first he can barely stand, the injury so much more agonizing than he remembers. He bites his lip to keep from crying out – Belle may still be there, beyond the town line, as unlikely as that seems, and she has already seen him laid low, already seen him whimpering in fear. Already seen him as the coward he truly is. How much worse for her to watch him sob as he struggles to do something as simple as _walk_? He puts his back to that invisible red line and makes his way to the trees with as much dignity as he can muster, feeling her gaze between his shoulder blades whether real or imagined. When he is out of sight he lets himself slump against an old elm and takes deep breaths to control his panic. 

It takes him an hour to locate a fallen branch that is both the correct height and strong enough to support his weight. He makes his way back to the road and cannot help stopping and staring toward the town line. Is Belle there even now? His lips shape her name – his beautiful wife, his _strong_ wife – and then he turns his back and begins limping away. He has taken several steps before the idea comes to him, and he diverts into the tree line to divest himself of his tie and wrap it around a low-hanging branch. 

He will need a signpost if he is ever to find his way home.

* * *

In the city, he is invisible.

It is hard for him to accept. Whether as Rumplestiltskin or as Mr. Gold, he has spent centuries inspiring emotion in others. People saw him and _felt_ something – fear, hate, resentment, anger – because he influenced events, changed lives, moved people as chess pieces in his long game. He was important, a force to be reckoned with. His name was a tale with which to frighten children and to caution their parents.

Now he is nothing more than a crippled old man. The people of New York rush by him on the street, paying him no notice. The cane that he procured by less than legal means and the limp that hobbles him as he struggles to keep up with the pace of the crowd does not inspire others to offer assistance, it is merely an impediment in the way of their mad rush. He picks his way across a busy street and eases himself down onto a bench in Central Park; clenches the knob of his cane. Hands that once focused and tamed immeasurable power now lay lank and cold in his lap. 

He sits until the sun begins its descent and the moon is a faded crescent in the sky, then pushes himself to his feet and shuffles his way to his apartment. The hallway stinks of boiled cabbage. He wrinkles his nose as he keys open the door, flops onto the sofa and sighs to finally get the weight off his leg after struggling up the multiple flights of stairs. He tries to ignore the way his heart races. The small, sharp pain. Realizes that he could die here, alone, friendless, and only when the stench of his decomposing corpse became too much to bear would his body be discovered.

It occurs to him then that he has almost come full circle: from the lonely, crippled spinner to the most powerful man in the realms and then back again to solitude and pain. Only one thing keeps the analogy from being perfect.

Back in the Enchanted Forest of centuries past, struggling to make ends meet and branded as the village coward, at least he had his boy.

* * *

Rumplestiltskin watches the full moon rise and take its place in the sky, and he waits.

In front of him, somewhere, lies a red line painted on the pavement. He cannot see it, cannot even sense its presence though he stretches out with all his inert power. But it is there, and beyond it the two women to whom he has entrusted his fate. 

The night is still, no breeze to rustle his dangling cuffs or sneak beneath his loosened collar. He stands in the middle of the road, braces with his cane and tries to keep as much weight as possible from his bad leg. The longer he waits the more difficult it becomes, until finally his hand trembles as he fights to keep from swaying. He waits until long past the time that Ursula and Cruella should have returned for him. 

Finally he can wait no more.

His lip trembles as he turns away. He thinks of his wife, his lovely brave Belle, and hopes that she finds the happiness that he could never give her. Thinks of his Bae and prays that his son forgives him for what he has done. He can feel his face crumpling as the tears threaten to spill, but he forces himself to hold them at bay. He will not cry. Not here. His cane scrapes on the ground. He concentrates on the sound, even as his strength nearly gives out as he lurches back the way he came.

Somewhere, behind him, there is a painted red line on the pavement. It is a line he now knows he will never again cross. 

Now he is truly lost.


End file.
